Canon in Crimson

by Rachel Kastin

  “This happened recently. There’s still water spilled on the carpet,” Alger was saying, with controlled frustration in his voice. Still transfixed, I touched Kingston’s hand and couldn’t stifle a horrified gasp when I found it ice cold.

  “Well, it obviously wasn’t a professional job,” Shifty added. “They took everything, and it’s messy as hell.”

  Messy as hell was right—it looked like someone had killed Kingston with sheer blunt trauma. Overwhelmed with anxiety and revulsion, I finally stood up and walked back over to the twins. Big Six put his arm around me, and I swallowed hard to choke back tears.

  “He’s dead?” Shifty asked me, annoyance thick in his tone.

  I nodded, watching Alger stand there with his arms crossed, trying to decide what to do now that we’d hit yet another dead end. The twins stood helpless as well, waiting for him to tell them what was going to happen next. And we were all so absorbed that even I didn’t hear trouble coming until the door flew open with a crack and fell off its flimsy hinges.

  We all whirled around to find a huge man—and I do mean huge; this man dwarfed the twins, Cointreau’s security guard, and even the Red Death—standing there, holding a shotgun. Pouring into the hallway behind him was…well, I swear it was an army. I knew right away that it wasn’t the spies, but there must have been thirty or forty of them. They all wore expensive, tailored suits, and they carried an array of impressive weaponry—pistols, rifles, a couple of grenades, the works. And they were all taking aim. Alger and the Torpedo had already drawn and were aiming back, and for an extended moment, everyone waited.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl around me as my mind raced through useless questions. What the hell was going on? Who were they? What did they want? Of course, I realized, they must be there for the same reason we were. The box, right? That was what everyone wanted. Well, considering their numbers, they’d probably win this fight, but at least they wouldn’t get it.

  On the other hand, that gave me an idea.

  When the world slid back into motion, I reached out with an exaggerated gesture and grabbed one of the jewelry boxes. And then I ran and jumped straight through the window as the hail of gunfire rained down behind me.

  I didn’t even have time to decide it was a bad call. Luckily, I’d seen this done before: when I hit the street, I tucked and rolled. I wasn’t very good at it, and the impact still jolted me. But as I stood up and determined that I hadn’t broken anything, I discovered that my plan was working. Shifty had leapt through the window and was catching up with me, and hot on his tail were at least half the armed men. Triumphant, I scooped up the jewelry box as Shifty grabbed my arm, and we tore off down the street with twenty men on our heels.

  We were lucky enough to have a bit of a head start; they were not quite a block behind us as we raced away. Having no idea where we were going, I turned at random, bowling over the florist we’d run across earlier and leaving a rainbow carpet of flower petals and an overturned cart in our wake. Pedestrians stopped to help or watch, and a wall of people separated us from our pursuers. So while they navigated around that little catastrophe, we veered off into a cemetery and took cover behind a stone angel.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Shifty whispered as he tried to catch his breath, gesturing at the jewelry box. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No!” I whispered back. “Don’t you get it? He has—they have a chance if we split up the army.”

  “Why should you give a damn?” he demanded. “What are you getting out of this?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered, smiling ruefully. “I guess I—”

  But at that point, one of the angel’s wings exploded as the army started to catch up, and the discussion had to be put on hold. We headed farther into the cemetery, weaving between headstones, dodging gunshots and bits of marble. I had to duck to avoid a flying arm from one of the statues. But before long, we started gaining ground, and we made for an overgrown orchard at the edge of the graveyard. Obscuring ourselves in the tangle of leaves and vines, we stopped again.

  “What about you?” I asked him, picking up the conversation. “What are you getting out of it?”

  He shook his head, gulping down air.

  “You know, kid,” he told me between gasps, “whatever it is, it’s not nearly enough anymore.”

  Well, I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but I didn’t have time to think about it. The army was closing fast, and I needed to come up with something quick.

  “Hey,” I said, nudging Shifty. “Do you have a light?”

  He gaped at me.

  “This is no time to—”

  “Just give it to me!”

  Looking at me dubiously, he fished a lighter out of his pocket, and I held it up to the dried underbrush. It lit obediently, and the little fire started to spread.

  “Are you nuts?” Shifty growled at me as I dragged him off, threading through the trees.

  “Maybe,” I replied, checking over my shoulder to see several of them careening through the growing flames, and then flailing around trying to put themselves out. Luckily, that slowed them down a little—and it forced some of them to drop their guns—but they certainly weren’t done chasing us. Well, they were certainly determined, but I had one more idea for how to get them off our tail.

  When we emerged from the kindled orchard into a clearing, I took a moment to stop and look around to find what I’d been heading toward: the Danube. I took off running downhill as fast as I could, with Shifty just a couple of steps behind. When we reached the riverbank, I stopped and turned around, waiting for the army to come into view.

  “No way,” said Shifty. “I know you and the Boss jumped into a river before, but if that’s your plan, you’re on your own.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “That’s not it.”

  Before long, our adversaries emerged from the thicket. Most of them had put their guns away; I suppose they’d run out of bullets by then. But they looked ready to charge us anyway. I stood at the edge of the riverbank facing them, and then I held out the jewelry box.

  “You want this?” I shouted.

  Suspicious and a little confused, they looked at each other. As I’d hoped, they were a little lost without their leader, who Alger and the Torpedo must have stalled. Finally, one of them stepped forward.

  “That’s right,” he yelled back.

  I grinned.

  “Then go get it!”

  And I turned and hurled the decoy into the river.

  Shifty and I leapt aside as our half of the army came thundering and swearing down the bank and, without hesitating, dove straight into the Danube. We stood watching them being tossed and buffeted down the river, chasing nothing. When they finally disappeared in the distance, I looked at Shifty.

  “Do you know what’s in the real box?” I asked him.

  “Nope,” he said, turning to walk back towards town. “And right now, kid, I couldn’t care less.”

  Chapter 26—Heart Shaped Box

  R7 heard G3’s breathing change and she knew he was about to wake up. She unfolded in the uncomfortable wooden chair, elbows and knees creaking, and watched her partner stir under the dingy white hospital sheets until his eyes blinked blearily open and focused on her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  G3 blinked at her a few more times, then glanced at his suspended and cast-clad leg, his splinted arm, his bandage-wrapped torso, and the glass bottle sending clear liquid into his veins through a hypodermic needle, all before looking at her again.

  “R7?” he finally creaked. “How did you get in here?”

  “I said I was your daughter,” she told him with a shrug.

  He squinted at her.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “Old enough for the nurse to believe me,” she answered with a smirk, handing him a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

  G3 tried to sip the water, pushed himself up in bed a little with his wor
king arm, and then drank.

  “Pretty well, considering,” he said. “But that could be the morphine talking.” R7 smiled, and G3 gave her a look whose shrewdness belied the comment about morphine. “What is it?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile outside of a brawl.”

  “I know what’s going on,” she said, leaning forward eagerly in her chair. “The robots, the robberies, El Fey—I understand it all now.”

  “Congratulations,” said her partner. “But if you have it all figured out, what are you doing here?”

  “Oh. Well,” R7 said, folding herself back into the chair, “I...kind of have no idea what to do now.”

  “I see,” G3 said, not quite smiling. “Okay then. Report.”

  R7 spilled the whole story, from Von Krauss to the safe at the club to the Red Death to the cellar at Tony’s.

  “She’s collecting puzzle boxes because she’s trying to get her hands on the puzzle box,” she finished, flushed with the excitement of her revelation. “And that’s what Von Krauss’ robots are looking for in her collection, and everywhere else! But the best part—G3, I think this is what I’ve been waiting for since—since you brought me on. The people Von Krauss is working for—Them—it’s him, G3. It’s Draegan Levak. He and his people are behind all this!”

  G3 frowned, taking in the steady stream of information as she spoke and then pausing for a long moment.

  “It sounds like you’ve done solid work,” he finally told her. “But that last part is a pretty big leap. We can’t just assume Levak is pulling the strings here. Everyone is after that box.”

  R7’s excitement took a hairpin turn directly into anger.

  “Yeah, I noticed that when the only people I ever cared about got killed because of it,” she snapped. “Which I’m sure you remember.”

  G3 didn’t flinch at that, but he didn’t say anything either. Silence hung in the antiseptic air of the hospital room as he kept thinking, and R7 stared at the never-quite-clean tiled floor in the harsh artificial light.

  “I’ve never understood why everyone cared about that damned box so much, you know,” she eventually said, more quietly. “What’s in it, anyway?”

  “A weapon,” G3 told her without hesitating.

  R7 stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “A...weapon? Like a bomb, or something?”

  “Everyone argues about the specifics,” said G3, shrugging, “but they agree that it’s something that could change the balance of power in the world forever. The British apparently created it, but lost control over it. So now whoever gets their hands on it first will supposedly have an advantage like nothing anyone can imagine. At least, that’s what everyone seems to think. Frankly, I think everything people have been willing to do to get it is the bigger danger.”

  It was R7’s turn to lapse into silent thought, as what he’d told her sank in and saturated everything she’d ever known with new understanding. A weapon. Actually, she should’ve guessed that a long time ago.

  “Well,” she said eventually, her voice heavy with knowledge she’d never had to bear before, “then I have even more reasons to stop Von Krauss and...whoever They actually are.”

  G3 cracked a smile.

  “You still think it’s him, don’t you?”

  “You’re damn right I do,” R7 growled, her jaw tightening. “And when this leads back to him, I’ll follow it straight to cracking his skull. But,” she added reluctantly, “in the meantime, the robots are the top priority, right?”

  “Right,” her partner agreed, nodding his approval.

  She sighed, leaning forward in her chair and dropping her chin into her hands, her elbows propped on her knees.

  “Then we’re right back where we started,” she said. “Except now I wasted a couple more days.”

  “Understanding the situation better is never a waste,” G3 told her.

  “Yeah, yeah,” R7 grumbled, glaring at him halfheartedly. “But it isn’t going to help me with Von Krauss. I’m not going to get to him by looking for the box, that’s for sure. So how am I supposed to—”

  A loud, obnoxious beeping sound leapt out from under the hospital bed to interrupt her. In a blink, she dived to the floor and reached under the bed to grab G3’s radio and pushed the button to answer the call.

  “This is R7,” she said breathlessly.

  “R7?” Spence’s voice crackled through. “Why—where’s—well, actually it’s good that you’re there.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” R7 demanded.

  “Professor Gregory called the office,” Spence answered. “He said—well, he said a lot of things that aren’t worth repeating, but the upshot is that he’s figured out how to use the antenna’s signal to track the operator. He wanted you to go to his lab so he could show you.”

  R7 sprang to her feet, clutching the radio.

  “I’m on my way,” she said into the receiver, barely remembering to wave goodbye to G3 when she dashed out.

  “Good luck, partner,” she heard him say to himself, as the door swung shut behind her.

  Chapter 27—Shot in The Dark

  Alger and I walked in the door, and everything changed. The house, hiding in plain sight, had seemed normal enough from the front porch, but on the inside, it was a different story. The narrow corridor we walked down was lined with oil lamps, and in the dim, flickering light, I could make out nightmarish murals painted along the walls. I was uneasy, but Alger, of course, didn’t seem concerned at all. He’d probably saw much stranger when he was a spy, I figured, trying to let the idea reassure me. The doorman led us up a rickety spiral staircase and down another hallway to a heavy black door, where he opened three locks, each with a separate key. Then he stepped aside and melted back into the shadows.

  The room we entered was an office of sorts, but it was unlike any other I’d seen. All kinds of strange items littered the towering shelves full of old books and stacks of paper: partially melted candles, figurines and other knickknacks, a few shards of what looked like crystal, tangles of wire and jars of liquid. The walls were scattered with scraps of paper covered in illegible notes, torn pieces of photographs, and bits of maps, and various types of swords were mounted on the ceiling. At the far end of the room was a desk, piled high with these little treasures and mysteries. And behind the desk, facing the wall, was a chair.

  As we approached, the chair swung around. We found ourselves facing a wisp-thin, middle-aged man, dressed entirely in black. He looked at us gravely, steepled fingers pressed against thin lips.

  “I see that you have not chosen to honor our agreement, Mr. Slade,” rasped the man I could only assume was the Collector. “I am disappointed. I had always heard you were a man of your word.”

  §

  After throwing an army of toughs into the Danube, Shifty and I had something of a disagreement over whether to go back to the others, or stay as far away as possible. Whatever had happened to “You know we’d get pinched for you any time, Boss?” But fortunately, while we were arguing in the street, Alger and the twins showed up and ended the discussion. They were a little worse for wear—Big Six, in particular, had taken a couple of nasty shots in one arm—but they’d made it. I didn’t gather that the same was true for the part of the army they’d fought, but we didn’t discuss exactly how that had gone. In fact, we didn’t really discuss much of anything at first; after losing the trail and fought half an army in the same day, Alger was in a pretty forbidding mood.

  But by the time we got back to the hotel, he seemed to have a plan, of course. While we waited, trying not to speculate on what was going to happen, he took the very rare step of making a couple of telephone calls—which put me, at least, even more on edge. And then he told us not to unpack, because we were going to Budapest. He was going to meet the Collector.

  Everyone worth his salt in the underworld back then knew about the Collector, whose real name was Laszlo Vidrai. If you wanted to find a black market item, Vidrai was your man. He supposedly knew where a
nd when anything you might be looking for had changed hands. But the catch was, you never wanted to have to go see the Collector. His prices were punishingly high, he was unlikely to keep your secrets, and the word was that he was a little…off: temperamental, fickle, and generally demanding about the conditions of his trades.

  All I knew for sure was, at least that last part was true. Because Alger told us he’d promised to meet Vidrai alone.

  §

  Tense as a harp string and trying to keep it off my face, I hoped like hell that I hadn’t ruined everything again. But then, still seeming perfectly at ease, Alger said something to the Collector in fluent Hungarian, his tone confident but respectful. Vidrai gave me a long, calculating look, and then his expression softened a bit. He replied in kind, sounding somehow a little less threatening. Alger answered, his voice lightening considerably, and they exchanged a dry smile.

  “Very well,” Vidrai said in English. I started breathing again as he stood up and walked out from behind the desk, putting his hands in his pockets and looking much more relaxed. “Let us have this conversation, then. You are in need, or you would not be here. First, I wonder, what can you offer me?”

  “I know your going rate,” Alger told him calmly. “I can acquire something for you, if that’s what you want.”

  “From someone of your reputation, I would expect nothing less,” the Collector said. “My question is, what sort of thing would it be?”

  “I’m willing to entertain suggestions,” Alger said carefully, “but the offer is a relatively open one.”